


Yule 3018.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cake, Fireworks, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 12:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17121191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: December 25 3018 - The Fellowship have just left Imladris...





	Yule 3018.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anneway-nitheliniel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=anneway-nitheliniel).



   

 

 

   Imladris was quiet, the Fellowship had vanished into the night and the time of waiting was begun.

   Elrond summoned a council. Those present looked at each other, they made an odd assortment. There was Gloin, and Nogri, a Dwarf who had become friendly with Bilbo. There were Glorfindel, and his partner Erestor, both friends of the kindly old Hobbit, and Galdor from the Havens, whose travels took him often through the Shire. Beside Elrond were his sons, and Gildor Inglorion. On the large table in front of Elrond was a chest with a heavy lock.  
   Elrond rose to his feet and looked around at them, their eyes, alert and curious, gazed back expectantly. Elrond smiled at them. “My friends, I have called you together at the request of Mithrandir, for a most pleasant purpose. We are asked to distract Bilbo Baggins, and to drive all thought of pursuit of the Fellowship far from his mind. Mithrandir feels, and I concur, that the knowledge of the purpose of the Fellowship may awaken that which should not be disturbed within the Hobbit, and drive Bilbo to reckless folly. In the name of your friendship with Bilbo Baggins, or at least with Mithrandir, I urge you to aid us in this small act.”

   The councillors looked at each other, then Glorfindel spoke,  
   “My lord Elrond, you need only ask and it shall be done. But my lord, what would you have us do ?” The golden haired Elf looked curiously at Gloin, who narrowed his eyes.

  Elrond pressed his lips together for a moment then spoke again “I would have you join with me in marking, belatedly, the Hobbit feast of Yule. You are here at the invitation of Mithrandir, who has ordered the kitchens to prepare the customary dishes, that the mind of the Hobbit should be turned back to his life of safety and comfort in the Shire, and away from... everything else.”

  
   Gloin rose to his feet “My lord Elrond, are you inviting us to a party ?”  
Elrond tilted his head back slightly and paused for a moment “Ah, yes, indeed, that is the key.” He paused and looked down at the key that Mithrandir had pressed into his hand before hurrying away into the night, the key to the chest. Elrond could feel the tides of thought and vision rise within him, what new, or old, mystery lay concealed behind that thick iron lock ? Elrond hated the unknown, Elros had teased him about it “You cannot learn everything” he would laugh, and Elrond would scowl, and open the next book, and the next...

   But the mood in the council had changed, Glorfindel was beaming at Erestor, and even Gloin was smiling. There was a little movement, but none spoke. Elrond himself, finally freed from the presence of the Ring, was at a loss for once, but Gildor rose smoothly beside him.  

  “My lord, shall I fetch the Hobbit ?”

  When Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire, entered the chamber, his eyes were red from weeping and his fingernails black with ink. He felt particularly old, and, next to the stout bulk of Gloin, especially frail. He blinked in astonishment; the Elves had been busy, green garlands of ivy and holly almost hid the high ceiling. Tall pots of wine-red fireleaf stood in alcoves, and a fine feast was spread on the large table. On one wall hung a great sign which read    

   “Comfort and plenty at Yule, Bilbo Baggins.”

  For a dizzy moment Bilbo felt the Shire all around him; if he went along the passage and through the garden and up the hill, he would see the whole of Hobbiton, as in so many of his dreams. He felt the tears start again, but straightened his back. After all, Frodo was going to... Even that calf of a Took...

   Elrond was before him, holding out a goblet. Bilbo drank without a glance, and spluttered with delight, it was real ale, Shire-brew, that no Elf cared for, disdaining the bitterness. But to Bilbo it was a taste of home, of his reckless youth, and of other Yules...

   “Comfort and plenty this Yule Mr Baggins !” cried Glorfindel “Tell us your thought on our efforts to bring a little of the Shire to Imladris.”  
   Bilbo smiled up at the golden haired Elf “I can scarcely speak for marvelling, and I feel as though a crowd of chattering cousins would pour through the door at any moment. Really, it looks so like home...”  
   “This is your home, Bilbo” said Elrond “For as long as you please, and we would have you know that you are welcome. But first, a parting gift from Mithrandir.” Elrond held the key out to Bilbo, who looked up at Elrond, and around at the smiling faces. They were all people he was fond of, wishing him joy, and his heart filled with a new kind of happiness, in the new world he lived in.  
   He looked down at the key, Glorfindel gestured eagerly to the chest “This !” he cried “A gift from Mithrandir himself. We are all longing to know what it is. Tell me, is it the custom of the Shire to give presents at Yule, as they give them on their birthday ?” Bilbo shook his head and stood before the chest. It was large and solid, new and strong, still traces of the sawdust of the workshop could be seen by the observant Hobbit. The chamber was silent, though music could be heard from the tireless choirs of Rivendell.

   Bilbo drew in a swift breath, he could not imagine what was in the chest, nor could the others, even wise old Elrond was stumped. Bilbo suppressed a grin and opened the chest.  
The chest was filled with fireworks, the kind that can be held in the hand, or lit in a garden. Bilbo laughed, and Nogri laughed, and soon even Elrond smiled a little, though he drained his glass first.  
   But Bilbo, laughing with Glorfindel, thought of his question and knew at once that it had been Gandalf's intention. Bilbo turned to the chest and took out handfulls of the fireworks “I do not need the permission of tradition to be generous ! Let us light them now, to brighten our hearts in the darkness !”  
   

   “Little stars...” said Elrond softly, but the others were crowding around Bilbo, and reaching into the chest for more. They spread out into the small high garden, open to the sky, but the stars were fleeting behind great skeins of dark cloud racing the high wind. Even in the shelter of the steep valley walls, the gusts flicked hair and cloak into unwary eyes. But Glorfindel took charge and soon the sputtering dazzle of the craft of Mithrandir was spreading from hand to hand, casting strange shadows that their avid eyes were blind to. Bilbo laughed to see Glorfindel teasing Erestor, and Erestor laughing and taking the firework from Glorfindel and lighting it himself.  
   “Let us see how many we can keep alight at once !” cried Bilbo, almost dancing with eagerness, but after all, the years had settled on him like the stillness of a summer afternoon, lulling him all too often to sleep. But Glorfindel was grinning at him, and he held out his hands for more.  
   Nogri began to sing, a Dwarven marching song, with a simple chorus which was joined by Gloin, Glorfindel, Gildor, Galdor and even lord Elrond. Bilbo laughed and sang with the others as they darted to and fro, lighting fireworks, replacing the spent sticks, and filling the darkness of the garden with a sparkling fountain of light. Bilbo stood with a flaring firework in each hand, singing loudly, surrounded by happy friends, all care forgotten. With a start he remembered poor Frodo and the others, trudging south into the darkness. He turned and looked over his shoulder, but Elrond was behind him, holding out the last firework with a smile. “I am sure that this is what Mithrandir had in his mind.”

   Bilbo laughed “Only because he knows how rash I am, and easily foresaw what I would do.”  
   Elrond laughed softly “Not only you, dear friend. The Noldor and many Sindar, and even the odd ones such as myself, are drawn to the light as foolishly as the moth, so say those of the woodland folk who speak with us yet.” He sighed “At times I imagine great armies of the Avari, hidden in the forests, waiting to march on... But the forests are ashes or filth, and the sound of their song is lost.”  
   Bilbo looked up at the sad eyes of Elrond and remembered that he too had lost kin that day, that he had raised Aragorn himself, and now sent him to face the Enemy, in a battle he could not win. Bilbo hung his head for a moment, but Elrohir was beside him with a tray of small glasses, and as they all sipped their miruvor, they realised that the song continued. All around the small garden, on the slopes and terraces below them, in the trees and leaning out of windows, the Elves of Imladris sang the marching song of the Dwarves, their eyes shining in the light of the last of the fireworks.  
   When darkness fell there was a moment of silence, and then a great cheer rose around them, and lanterns were lit, and they smiled dazzled smiles and laughed to see each others faces.

   Elrohir led his father inside and gestured to the seat of honour. But Elrond stood aside and gestured Bilbo to the carven chair. “This feast is in your honour, Mr Baggins of Bag End, and this chair is my gift to you.” Bilbo gaped for a moment then bowed formally, then clasped the hand of Elrond in both of his and said softly “I miss him too.” Elrond inhaled, but did not speak, and took the seat beside Bilbo.  
   When all were comfortable, the sons of Elrond swept open the doors and an Elf entered bearing a large deep dish of shining silver which they laid before Bilbo, who could no longer hold the tears back. Glorfindel sat up a little straighter “I told them of the Yuley Plum Cake ! I was in Bree one Yule, with Mithrandir, and an amusing old Hobbit told me the story. Or stories... Every village has their own version, 'every gammer !' he said.” Glorfindel smiled around at them, then turned to Bilbo “But this is your tale, Mr Baggins, will you not tell it yourself ?”  
   Bilbo bowed “I beg that you excuse me, I do not have the heart to tell stories tonight, though I should very much like to hear some. I should like to hear tales of the sea, Galdor, and of the white birds of the shore.”  
Galdor bowed to Bilbo, “It will delight me to speak of home, but will you not tell us the tale of this Yuley cake ?”  
   “Ah, no, it is Yuley Plum Cake, and Glorfindel shall tell you why, for I have not spent Yule in Bree, and I would hear their tale.”

   Nogri laughed “You Elves ! Let one of you tell the tale, no matter who, or the dish will be cold before we hear the first word !”  
Glorfindel sat up very straight and looked around at them. “It happened that there was an evil king who ate children. The evil king was especially fond of roasting greedy, fat Hobbit children. In the nicest village there was a baker who had many children, she grew afraid for her children, and asked the other Hobbits to keep a sharp watch for the evil king. One day she was baking plum pies, rolling out great sheets of pastry, when the evil king was seen, riding towards the village with soldiers at his back. The hobbits fled to their village and hid their children in sacks, and behind planks in the wall, and anywhere they could find. But the baker had so many children, round as plums from eating her fine cakes, that she had nowhere to hide the last four, so she wrapped them in pastry and told them to stay very still. The evil king sat on his big black horse while his soldiers searched through the holes and burrows, but they could find no trace of any children. At last the evil king, tired and hungry, went to the bakers to find some tasty treat until the next child was caught.

  The baker was very frightened, her children had been sitting still for so long, wrapped in their pastry, that she felt sure that one of them would have to move, to cough, or scratch or yawn, at any moment. She looked around and saw the plum cakes she had been making for Yule. The plum harvest had been abundant and there were great piles of cakes, plenty for the king and all his soldiers. Quickly she cut him a slice and laid it on her best plate. The evil king, who was still sulking that there were no children to kill, picked at the plum cake and asked why she had made so many. She told the evil king about Yule, and as he listened he finished the cake, and seemed to cheer up. He thanked her for the delicious cake and then, to her horror asked her about the huge pies on the shelf.

  
   But the baker had heard many stories about the evil king, and she knew that he wanted to only do the things he thought kings should do, like kill children, and not do the things that decent Hobbits do, like look after children. So the baker waved her hand dismissively at the pastry-covered children and said “Oh, those are for our needy friends, those who cannot afford a real Yuley Plum Cake like these. Would you care for another slice ?” “  
Glorfindel finished and turned to Bilbo “Is that the story you know ?”

  
   Bilbo shook his head “Not a word of it ! News from Bree, eh ? Very well, I shall tell you the tale as it is told in Hobbiton. The family gathers around, they make a cake like this, the family fill it with plums, then each member of the family wraps a plum in the cake dough, and puts them into the pool of plums. It is about family, about being together, snug, with comfort and plenty, in the dark of winter. Evil kings...” the Hobbit laughed and eagerly cut the cake.

  
But Elrond sat back in his chair and met the eyes of Erestor, and Glorfindel, and they thought of Angmar and the nine.

 


End file.
